Ice Queens
by Madame Apathy
Summary: One-shots offering a sympathetic look at the girls of Bullworth Academy. I will do requests, but these are strictly no pairings.
1. Lola Lombardi

**Hiya! I just thought I'd write this to begin with since I notice that Lola gets no sympathy. Hopefully, it's OK. Reviews are very much appreciated.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

**Lola**

So, this is me; Lola, the slut, the school bike. There were girls like me before anyone alive today was born. There'll probably be girls like me long after any of us are dead. We are sluts, bitches, ice queens undeserving of sympathy. However, as hard as this is to believe, we are human... I am human. Admittedly, some of us are bitches without cause, girls who don't care. But some of us are just damaged good, delicate creature who got dropped by those who should know better. Like anything that drops, we shatter. Then we turn into girls like me.

For example, I could tell you all about my early years. I could tell you my parents were happily married. I could tell you I was a daddy's girl. I could tell you I went to school every day with a clean dress and a good breakfast in my stomach. I'd be lying."Daddy" could be dead for all I know, although I guess "Donor" is a more appropriate title. The other adult in my life wasn't much better. I can't count the times I wandered downstair to find a woman, her chesnut hair in disarray, her lipstick smudged, and her manicured fingers wrapped around the slender neck of an almost-empty wine bottle.

Maria. My mother. My idol. My fallen heroine.

The details weren't always the same. Sometimes there was a strange man who passed by me as I entered the kitchen. Sometimes she had bruises, or scarlet drops on her soft skin. Sometimes she smelt strange, a combination of perfume, alcohol, cheap aftershave that often smelt worse than what it was trying to cover up, and another thing I was too young, too blissfully innocent to recognise. Then, the beautiful but dishevelled woman would see me, smile and begin a drunken ramble about her new friend or how I would have a new daddy soon. Then she'd break into a quivering, aching wreck, telling me never to fall for a man because he'd use me for whatever he could get away with, sometimes bringing up someone called "Pete" and how he'd left her knocked up at seventeen before vanishing quicker than a dream when you open your eyes, gone forever with no hope of him coming back. I was about six at the time.

To be fair to her, she seemed to have a point- no man that came home with her had left within a week, sometimes clearing the safe for his trouble. Perhaps that's why, when boys decided I was pretty, I saw an opportunity. Perhaps that's why I became the way I am.

It was nice to have the control, to be different to my mother. No boy ever forced me into anything- I left the first time he tried, leaving him with nothing but unkind words and a black eye to know I ever existed- and surprisingly, I never needed to go further than a kiss for any goal to be acheived. At least I was that lucky- Mandy did anything her precious Ted asked, although I haven't got a clue why. To me, jocks are everything that's wrong with men- hormone-filled apes desperate to screw the first thing they could get their paws on, and insecure girls all too willing to open their legs for a few loving lies. Even Tad was better than that, knowing from the start the our dates were strictly for convinience. Johnny was better still.

Ah yes, Johnny- passionate, faithful, honest Johnny. Johnny who had never raised a hand to me, never listened to a bad word against me, who fought for any scrap of decency I had left, even if I did hurt him every so often... quite often... too often.

Oh God, what have I done to him?


	2. Christy Martin

**Hi! This is based on in game quotes, so hopefully it's in character. Apparently Wade and Mr Martin's quotes about family match Christy''s and Christy does threaten to strangle people with their ties. Let me know if it sucks and I'll change it. All reviews are appreciated.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

**Christy**

Hiya! I'm Christy, to any of you that don't know- Christy Martin. And yeah, Wade is my brother, unfortunately. Don't ask me how that happened- it's hard to figure out how any parents(especially mine) could create such a lovely, strong minded person... and then Wade.

Nah, I'm kidding, Wade's generally OK, whatever Beatrice and her freaky friends say about him in their crappy petition. Big deal, he hasn't taken Mum going well, but neither has Dad.

Hell, I hate him, the cheating, lying bastard. He sits there whining about how he's such a jerk, gagging for one of us to go "No, Daddy, you're a great person. Of course it's not your fault Mom left you for screwing that bitch Ms Kopke.". How immature- he's like a little kid who's not sorry he misbehaved but he's very sorry he's been sent to his room. He was even talking about marrying that cow which goes to show how fricking sorry he is.

But you don't want to know about him, do you? Of course you don't. You want to speak to me. Back to the matter at hand, I'm Christy, cheerleader, Bullworth student and queen of gossip in this dump. Not a thing, from Earnest's latest "brilliant plan" to Ted's latest squeeze, escapes my eagle. For example, I heard there was fresh blood on the floor of the Hole. It might be Jimmy Hopkins', or Russell's or maybe Johnny Vincent's. I bet it's Johnny's! That tramp Lola's probably been whoring herself again, maybe to Gord, or Tad again, or maybe both... Sorry, I'm letting my imagination run away with me.

I have tendency to do that- imagine, I mean. And why not? It doesn't really hurt anyone, does it? If anything, it's a talent- Mr. Galloway thinks I'll be a really good journalist, or maybe a writer. Mandy, on the other hand, thinks I need therapy. Can you believe that? The girl who shoves her fingers down her throat every mealtime said that about me with a straight face? That said, perhaps threatening to strangle her with my school tie for stepping on my foot was a teensy tiny bit too far.

The school tie is totally hideous. Personally, I can't understand why pulling a tight piece of fabric around our necks to the point where we nearly choke is encouraged. Whose stupid idea was that? Probably that big nosed old principal who wouldn't even mind if we crucified first years because it's "school spirit". If you ask me, he's probably downing some of his own spirits, though I think it's more along the lines of Galloway's "tea" than pride in the Academy.

Where was I? Oh yeah, the tie. The strip of cloth's probably been dragged through mud and rinsed in swamp water judging from the colour, not to mention the smell. The fabric scratching your neck as you wear it is worse than wire wool scouring your case you couldn't tell, I hate that tie.

Scratch that, I hate the uniform .I hate my classes. I hate the whole stupid school! So much... Someone should burn the dumb Academy down. Actually, someone tried a while back, although it was unfortunately just the Gym, the only semi-decent part of the whole "Glorious Institution" (Ha!) as Crabblesnitch puts it. The flickering, cackling flames dancing on top of the Gym with eerie elegance were nothing short of beautiful as it slowly consumed the Gym... then Hopkins got in and put the fire out.

But enough about me. You'll never guess what I heard the other day...


	3. Pinky Gauthier

**Hi! Someone asked for Pinky, so hopefully this is OK. If anyone has a request, then please let me know.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

**Pinky Gauthier**

I picked the letter up, scolding myself for wasting paper, not to mention time. What had I been thinking of? It wasn't exactly convincing:

"Derby,

Have I got your attention now, you arrogant, manipulative jerk? I certainly hope so. Then again, perhaps you've just ripped this up or thrown it in the fireplace, which seems pretty in character. Maybe you didn't even open it before deciding it would look nice in your trash can.

Oh, and just in case you're having difficulty, it's Pinky. You know; brunette, Aquaberry dress, just happens to be your fianc ?

Fiancé - ha! What a joke, that such a supposedly wonderful word for those who want to spend their lives together should be applied to some filthy, awful business agreement. Being betrothed is meant to mean "I love you and I don't care who knows it", not "I can't be bothered finding a wife whose in my tax bracket but not my gene pool, so my cousin will do". We both know all too well you don't love me; I'm sorry to say that I don't love you either, which I suppose is a shame because my life would certainly be much easier if I did. Goodness knows I've tried; all those dates I arranged (that you showed up late for, the amount of times I've tried to talk to you in the hopes of finding something we shared, all those times I stared at you, searching your face for something, anything, however insignificant, that I could love. No such luck- it's mystifying that someone who should be so similar to me is so difficult to like. Perhaps I'm not trying hard enough.

Then again, perhaps you aren't trying either. What am I saying, perhaps? Since no one seems to have told you, snaking an arm around my waist or a kiss when you fancy it doesn't qualify as an effort. Neither does mild annoyance about me deciding not to waste the walk to the Carnival because "something came up".

You see, darling, this is why this stupid arrangement won't work, why they scarcely ever do. This disgusting tradition is how Daddy ended up dumping Mummy for a bimbo with tight skirts, blond hair and black eyebrows- men won't work for what they can get for free. If things had been done differently, you may have had to actually speak to me, be nice to me or make some kind of bloody effort. But why should the golden boy have to work? After all, courtship is for the lower classes like Hopkins, for example. Why shouldn't the precious son get some girl served up to him, regardless of her opinion? So of course any work should fall onto whichever unfortunate gets roped into the agreement to be a baby machine. Yes, I'm being sarcastic.

This whole thing seems very good on your side; you don't have to bother courting, you have a wife ready-made, and if anything isn't to your liking, Daddy dearest can find you another cousin.

Speaking of which, just in case you have shown this to your father, or for some reason he ends up reading this, I might as well say it- I hate both of you. You have stolen my freedom, my will and my independence before I could even taste them properly. Do you think I wouldn't kill for the liberty that Mandy, Christy, even Beatrice has? The liberty you still retain, I might add, judging from the way you behave. Derby can perhaps be forgiven, since he's almost as trapped as I am, but why make such a filthy arrangement for a boy you supposedly love so much?

But what is love worth, anyway?

Yours sincerely

Pinky Gauthier Unfortunately-to-become-Harrington"

There was no doubt in my mind he'd pay any more attention to the written words than he would spoken ones. I wondered if there was anything I could do, but no single sliver of comfort came.

The crumpled paper thudded softly against the waste paper bin.I have to stop dwelling on what I can't change.


	4. Mandy Wiles

**Someone requested Mandy, so here goes. I've currently done all the requests for this collection, so if anyone has any more requests for this, then let me know and I'll see what I can do.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Mandy.**

**Mandy**

I'm the queen bee here at Bullworth Academy.

I am, really. Mandy Wiles; the head cheerleader, Ted's girl and ruling queen at the Bullworth Academy. Not one little thing is out of bounds for me- hell, the whole place is mine! I can do anything I like here; I can lead the fashion, I can date any boy I choose, I can have anyone do anything for me with a mere word. In this little cesspit we call an academy, beauty and status can buy you just about everything... Well, not quite everything. For example, I couldn't get good grades(without cheating, at least) or else I might be branded a nerd, which is the equivalent of leprosy here. No one dares come near anyone wearing the shameful green jumper in case they, too, are infected by the disease of intelligence. Otherwise, they get ridiculed, which I guess is just human nature- "Just be glad it's not your problem" seems to be the dogma around here.

That said, who am I to say a word? I'm guilty of being nasty too, especially to the nerds. As a thought, who honestly thought sticking me with a nerd was a good idea? Oh genius, Crabblesnitch, stick nerds and jocks together. That's not asking for problems. Occasionally, I wonder who those insults cut more. What do I have against her, anyway? What's so offensive about a pathetic nerd? Why do the nerd's tears at my sharp, slashing remarks about whatever feature annoys me that day shut my own hateful self consciousness up, if only for a moment or two before screaming louder still about what a not only fat, but heartless bitch I am?

I'll give Beatrice one thing- she's very slim. In fact, if she ever used that brilliant brain of hers to go to the chemist for some spot cream, she could maybe be a clothing model. I wish I was that lucky. Unfortunately, I'm huge, or feel it at least. I used to be much worse than this. While I've still nowhere near as slim as I'd love to be, I was utterly repulsive in first year, before I had my little epiphany. You see, I couldn't understand how the cheerleaders great ability to stuff their faces without ever gaining an ounce while my clothes screamed at me as puppy fat stretched them. Stranger still were the retching noises coming from the toilets at every dinner time. Eventually, I learned to echo those noises, to force my own food back up. My clever, filthy little secret.

At first, the thought was... well, sickening to be blunt. But then again, I'd tried everything; dieting, .Surely once wouldn't hurt, would it? And when that worked, surely a second go wasn't a bad idea? Almost instantly, the weight slid off with my new technique, and soon it was just something I did every day, like cheer-leading practice, sit-ups or brushing my teeth in the hopes my new secret wouldn't demolish them. Isn't it funny how we get into the habit of things?

Not that it did much good, of course. Oh, I lost weight all right- give it a bit longer I'll be the same weight as Beatrice- but you don't get much enjoyment from it. The admiration for the amazing shrinking cheerleader quickly switched to concern, while the compliment from boys often seem to have some sleazy, dirty suggestion lurking below like a shark below water, waiting for the perfect second to shoot up and bite.

Then again, what did I expect? Cheerleaders are dolls, just pretty things there for the enjoyment of jocks, not to mention that filthy Burton. It's no wonder Zoe complained about him after those awful comments he makes. On top of that, there were those awful pictures. Admittedly, I've never been the best person in the world, but did I honestly deserve to have the body I hate so much plastered around town for every middle-aged pervert or random passer by to see? Was I honestly so nasty to people that having my flesh on display for the entire school, the entire town- maybe even the world if it had got on the internet- was a suitable punishment? I mean Jimmy was nice enough to cover them up, but the other students can't unsee those awful photos. The team won't unsee them, not that their respect for me was so flipping high beforehand. As far as jocks are concerned, girls have the uniqueness grains of sand and are about as valuable.

Well, there you have it- I guess the throne of Bullworth Academy isn't so comfortable.


	5. Beatrice Trudeau

A few people asked for Beatrice, so here you go. I hope it's alright, and I'm sorry that it took so long, but my computer got a virus and I've only just gotten rid of the stupid thing. The next person I write up will most likely be Melody or Zoe, as I already have the ideas for them.

On a side note, I've started a roleplay on my Bully forum, so if anyone enjoys the rps on this site, could they please have a look? I could really use some people.

Disclaimer: Not my chemistry lab, I just like to blow stuff up in here.

Beatrice Trudeau

Science was consistent.

That was what Beatrice loved about stading in the lab, squeezing a pipette over a beaker of clear fluid. She loved knowing that copper sulphate would always be a bright, nearly indigo colour. She loved knowing that blowing into calcium carbonate would turn it white. She loved knowing that everything would always be the same as long as she stayed in that room. No surprises. No nasty shocks. No emotions to confuse her.

She hated being confused. Compared to confusion, she almost preferred knowing of an unpleasant outcome. If she didn't fight back when Mandy started talking to her, she knew the insults would be fired through the synapses in her brain like cannon balls and once lacrinal fluid seeped out of her eyes and heavy sobs dropped from her mouth like birds caged so long they'd forgotten how to fly, then Mandy would turn and leave, smirking at the pain she caused. Not knowing was worse. Not knowing when the taunts would stop. Not knowing when the scratches on her arms would scab over. Not knowing why she thought scratching her arms until she _bled_ would make her feel any better. Why didn't she know? Why weren't there any books on the topic? Being confused was being in a black hole- it vaccumed every atom of goodness out of life, sucking out the oxygen so that she couldn't breathe.

There had been a few times she'd felt like that, the best example being when she'd first been sent to Bullworth. Why not somewhere closer to Liberty City? Why not somewhere she was familiar with? Truth be told, she hadn't understood when her parents told her, she hadn't understood when she was shoved into the abyss that was Bullworth, and she didn't understand as she tipped a small vial into the beaker.

The liquid made a gurgling sound, as though trying to comfort or at least distract her from the memory of her first year. If falling over at tryouts hadn't told her there was no point trying to please the jocks, being shoved in a dark, dusty locker for hours on end clarified the belief. Deflated and dejected, the young girl had drifted around the school aimlessly, another tiny electron buzzing around Bullworth's nucleus.

Then she found the chemistry class. The bubbling died down and the girl's smile lit up like a bunsen burner. Wandering into a room with books and strangely shaped bottles had been like finding an oasis in a vast desert. It was her sactuary- a place she could go to prevent being persecuted for the sin of being bright and proud of it, a place she wouldn't be punished for the crime of intelligence. She even found others deemed guilty of being bright in the library. That was where she'd met Bucky, Algie and Earnest playing Grottos and Gremlins, a scene which quickly became a weekly ritual. Each person had claimed a character; Beatrice Joanna the Elf Warrior Queen, Buxley the titan warrior, Papodopulo the orc, and Earnesteous the supreme ruler of the Gremlin domain. No one wedgied the orcs. No one reduced the Queen Warrior to tears. No one shoved the titans in cold caves and shoved stones over the entrance. They were safe in the game, whatever happened outside of it, be that hate, bullying, bad grades, boys...

Well, one particular boy. Flicking her writst slightly, she watched the molecules in the fluid topple over each other and drip into the pale solution. If she was right, it should turn green. Why was it him, she wondered, that caught her eye and not an intelectual equal? Well, maybe not equal- that would leave her with Cornelius and Earnest, and that wouldn't work for obvious reasons- but at least someone who knew what she was talking about. Still, they had been happy enough; Jimmy brought her flowers, didn't mind her cold sores, usually got her name right.

Then she was displaced by prettier girls, kicked out of the equation and forgotten about. Pinky. Lola. Mandy. Even _Eunice_ had enjoyed Jimmy's affection, and that was before _she_ had! Her pride was already battered and beaten, but it was still there... just.

Maybe she wasn't pretty enough? Her skin wasn't clear enough? Her lips not plump enough? Water condensed in Beatrice's glasses. Surely, that wouldn't matter, would it? She was smart. She could learn. She had a brain filled with beauty, and consistency, and the periodic table. That had to matter more than a pretty face, didn't it?

The concoction brightened, the leafy green colour brightening and glistening like dew on the morning grass. The nerdy girl smiled. As hoped, Beatrice was right.


End file.
